


100 ways I loved you

by crossroadswrite, sterekfluffer (teampancakes)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Royalty, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Chef Derek Hale, Chef Stiles Stilinski, Claudia Stilinski's Death, Dance Teacher Derek Hale, Dancer Stiles Stilinski, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Date, First Kiss, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hurt Derek Hale, Individual tags at the beggining of each chapter, M/M, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, Office Romance, POV Alternating, POV Derek Hale, POV Neutral, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Prince Derek Hale, Prince Stiles Stilinski, Prom, Warrior Derek Hale, Werewolf Rights Activist Derek Hale, Werewolf Rights Activist Stiles Stilinski, derek in new york
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teampancakes/pseuds/sterekfluffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred ways Stiles and Derek loved each other across the universes, based on the prompts in <a href="http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you">this tumblr post</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4. "Come here. Let me fix it."

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction will be a compilation of different prompts, that will span a plethora of aus. These prompts will be filled randomly so they will not be by the order of the tumblr post. When we complete this lil' challenge we'll put them in order.
> 
> Expect a new chapter every other day, and please be understanding if we skip a day, real life sometimes kicks our ass.
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern Royalty AU + Prince!sterek + POV Derek Hale + Pining + Side Character: Isaac Lahey

It has been a trying six months, filled with measured smiles and carefully planned out gestures that became more and more strained as time progressed.

Not for the first time in his life, Derek cursed the fact that he was born in a golden crib, second heir to the throne of their country. Since the day he was born his life had been a carefully rehearsed play. Only smile to the right people, only pay attention to the important people, never bow before anyone of lesser social status, never drop your chin, remain stoic, never get angry, never show emotion if what you’re feeling is negative or if it’s _too_ positive.

At twenty-four he was tired of all of it, but he had also been lucky. If it were anyone else he would’ve been married off at sixteen and sent to rule some smaller country.

He’s been _lucky_ so far, everyone tells him.

Derek suppresses a wince when the tailor accidentally stabs him with a pin as he adjusts his suit.

“You look good,” Isaac compliments, marking another place in Derek’s suit where he’ll have to adjust it.

“I’m supposed to look good.”

“Please try to contain your enthusiasm and awe at my wonderful work. Really? So much flattery will inflate my ego too much, I might burst.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Stiles.”

 _Stiles_. His soon to be husband, married out of necessity for allies and something more that Derek doesn’t want to put a name on.

He was expecting to hate his betrothed. He _did_ hate his betrothed for a while but then- then Stiles somehow manage to punch through Derek’s ribcage and get a hold of his heart and now here he is. Victim of unrequited love to a man that is under the obligation of marrying him, and feeling like he’s stealing every moment they have together, like he’s conning and tricking Stiles somehow.

“You need to tell him,” Isaac supplies, looking seriously at Derek, all playfulness drained from his features. “He deserves to know, Derek.”

Derek opens his mouth about to reply but is cut off by the door to the tailor’s room opening.

“Hey Isaac I think I- _oh wow_ ,” Stiles comes to a halt and stares.

Derek turns slowly towards him, tugging at the sleeve of his suit self-consciously. “It’s bad luck to see your fiancé before the wedding.”

“I think that’s just for women,” Stiles tells him and _smiles_ like that simple quirk to his lips doesn’t absolutely break Derek’s heart and rebuilds it into something better in the same breath.

He drops  his eyes down, desperate to focus on something a little less injuring and catches the sloppy knot of Stiles’ tie.

“You’re tie is crooked,” he points out and then before he can help himself, “ **Come here. Let me fix it.** ”

Stiles doesn’t even hesitate. He walks towards Derek and tips his head the slightest bit back, giving him room to work.

Derek’s hands only shake a little bit when he un-dos and re-dos the knot, keeping his eyes on it and trying not to let them stray towards Stiles’ smooth throat, the cut of his jaw, his slightly colored cheeks.

He should really take his hands off. Stiles doesn’t know Derek likes him, he doesn’t know what he’s offering with this simple gesture.

Derek drops his hands and clenches his fingers into fists.

Stiles is giving him a private little smile, the kind he never wears for the court and reserves for close friends and family, people he genuinely likes.

“Thank you,” Stiles says quietly, and all Derek can do in return is nod like a moron, eyes straying to the floor so he doesn’t have to look at him as his striking beauty, everything he can and can’t have.

He makes a decision then, while looking at the pristine patterned carpet in the tailor’s room. It wouldn’t be fair for Stiles to marry someone when he doesn’t know the depth of their feelings.

He’ll tell him tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized that both Stiles and Derek have a royal ass because they are princes and I am Very Happy with this development.


	2. 93. "I believe in you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe in you" + restaurant AU + first kiss + Stiles POV + Chef!Stiles

Stiles locks himself into the pantry and presses his forehead against the cool metal edge of the shelf, sighing in frustration. He can’t believe it. It’s the night of his first ever major restaurant review and two of his chefs haven’t come in to work, Allison is on maternity leave and he’s a waitress short because Erica has twisted her ankle badly. It’s going to be an absolute disaster. There’s no way that Lydia Martin, yes, _the_ Lydia Martin, food journalist extraordinaire, will ever give him the brilliant review he’s been hoping for. Damn it, he’s been working for this night the whole year! Perfecting dishes, training chefs, making sure the menu is aesthetically appealing, he’s done it all.

He kicks the shelf in anger and is rewarded by four cans of tinned tomatoes falling onto his foot. “Ow!” he calls out in pain, hopping away from the shelf and sinking down onto a pile of flour bags in the corner. He cradles his head in his hands and closes his eyes. He might as well just give up now, he thinks. There’s no way he’ll get customers after an unfavourable review from Lydia Martin and an unfavourable review is clearly what’s going to happen.

“Uh, Stiles?” a voice calls out as the door cracks open a few inches. Stiles looks up in surprise; he’d locked the pantry door, hadn’t he?

“Scott sent me,” it’s Derek. He’s one of Stiles’ oldest employees; Stiles thinks he hired him just a few hours after he hired Scott. Derek is an amazing chef and Stiles loves to flirt with him and watch him blush red under all the scruff. Stiles won’t deny it; he’s had many a fantasy where he and Derek get locked into the pantry together and do, uh, things. But right now, he’s feeling too angry and upset to even think about any of those fantasies.

Derek walks into the pantry and shuts the door behind him. He’s carrying two covered plates which he sets down on a nearby shelf and then bends over to pick up the tins of tomatoes that Stiles had left on the floor. Stiles stares at him.

“I locked the door,” he says, rasing an eyebrow. Derek turns to him and gives him one of his rare, kind of shy smiles.

“Scott had a masterkey,” he explains, coming to sit on a bag of flour next to Stiles.

“I should’ve known,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head.

“Martin’s gonna be here in three hours, do you really want to spend all that time in here, sulking?” Derek asks, poking Stiles on the arm.

“Sulking?!” Stiles exclaims. “ _You_ tell me how I’m supposed to impress Lydia frickin Martin with only two out of the four best chefs I have _and_ my most competent waitress not being able to be here because of a twisted ankle!”

Derek just stares at him calmly. “Did you call Isaac and Jackson again?” he asks.

“I called Isaac a million times, he’s not picking up his phone and Jackson picked up on the sixth try but said he couldn’t come because of a family emergency,” Stiles says, getting up to pace the room, running his fingers through his hair. “With Isaac and Jackson not here, there’s no way I’ll be able to serve Lydia Martin the full seven course meal I had planned!”

“Okay, first of all, calm down,” Derek stands up too. He walks towards Stiles and stills his anxious pacing by placing both of his hands on Stiles’ arms. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs. Stiles looks at him warily but then does as he says. Instantly he feels a tiny bit better. At least he can breathe properly now.

“Now listen to me,” Derek shakes him a little until he looks at him. “ _I believe in you,_ ” Derek says carefully and slowly. “You can do this. You’re the most talented chef I have ever met and you’re very smart. I _know_ you can do this.”

Stiles swallows as he looks at Derek’s intent face. There’s just something about the way he’s saying it all; like he really, truly means it, that Stiles begins to feel like, maybe, he can actually do it.

“I’ve seen you whip up amazing dishes in under five minutes, I’ve seen you manage full houses without breaking a sweat. Feeding Lydia Martin a great meal is nothing,” Derek grins, pulling his hands away and taking a little step back. “You just have to think a little differently.”

Stiles frowns, wondering what he’s doing as Derek turns away from him and reaches for the two plates he put on the shelf when he first came in. “I made these two courses. They’re not what you planned but maybe they could be a quick alternate?” He uncovers the plates and offers Stiles a fork and a spoon.

“Derek,” Stiles looks at him, eyes wide as he takes a bite of each dish. “These are amazing,” he licks the spoon to prove his point. He feels like hugging Derek but Derek’s holding two plates.

“Thanks,” Derek ducks his head and puts the plates back on the shelf. “Also, um, my sister, Cora? She’s waitressed before. I could call her to ask her if she can step in for tonight?”

Stiles can’t help it. He skips the hug and goes straight in for a kiss, smashing their mouths together. Their teeth clash and it’s the worst first kiss anyone could have asked for but they’re both giggling by the time they pull back.

“That would be wonderful, the, um, Cora thing,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.

“Okay, then, um, I’ll call her,” Derek replies, blushing a little.

“Okay, good, then, uh, we better get going,” Stiles says but there’s a question mark at the end of his words.

“One more kiss? For good luck, maybe,” Derek looks adorably shy as he pushes his glasses up his nose. Stiles grins as he leans in.

“One more for luck.”


	3. 12 "Take my jacket, it's cold outside."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ballet AU + Dancer!Stiles + Dance Teacher for lil' kids!Derek + POV Stiles + Side Characters: Allison Argent, Bobby "Coach" Finnstock

Stiles might have a problem.

Well, to be fair Stiles has many problems: his dad’s cholesterol levels, student loans, last month’s rent, Jackson Whittemore trying to trip him so he can get the solo at the next production the tiny _tiny_ ballet company Stiles is a part of makes.

This problem, comparatively isn’t a _bad_ problem, unless you count a bad case of blue balls a bad problem.

“Stilinski if you’re not going to take that pirouette seriously then just don’t fucking pirouette!” Coach yells at him. The man is half insane, and not even in the fun eccentric way most dance instructors in movies are.

First of all he demands to be called coach even though they don’t play any kind of sport and then he likes to recite motivational speeches from random movies, his favorites being the ones from Independence Day and Toy Story.

Stiles doesn’t ask.

“Sorry coach,” Stiles shouts and then focus on his pirouette and not on his _problem_.

Coach claps loudly and laughs. “Now _that’s_ how you fucking pirouette.”

There’s a light knock on the door and Problem pokes his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Derek Hale says as politely as he can manage, a four year old peeking at the full room from between his legs. “But it’s my class’ turn to use the room.”

Stiles loses his balance and smacks against Allison.

“Give us another twenty minutes Hale, it’s important work we’re doing here.”

Derek opens the door all the way and crosses his arms over his chest. Stiles almost whimpers at the way his shirt is stretching over his chest. Allison pats him sympathetically on the shoulder.

“Because inspiring young children into pursuing ballet isn’t important?”

Derek’s tiny arm of tiny four to six year olds are all looking into the room now, pressing against each other and chattering excitedly.

Coach eyes them and looks about three seconds from vaulting out of the window.

“You made your point. Just don’t let them touch me. I was bit by one once! I have trauma!”

“I promise nothing,” Derek deadpans and lets his class of four to six year olds into the room, a couple of parents following.

Ladies and gentleman, meet his problem: Derek Hale; wears stupidly snug sweaters; teaches children ballet in the afternoon and old ladies how to salsa every other night; doesn’t like coffee unless it doesn’t taste like coffee; has magical eyes that frustrate Stiles to no end because _what color are they even_ ; looks like he could bench press Stiles; has like thirty cats because he keeps picking up strays off the street and a family big enough to fill a small theater.

And worst of all: _blushes_ whenever he talks to Stiles.

Allison elbows him on the side. “Close your mouth and go say hi!”

Stiles winces and considers picking up his bag and just making a run for it, but Derek is adjusting one of the girls’ tutus and glancing shyly at him and he just needs to-

“Hey Derek.”

Derek looks wide eyed at him for a second, face freezing in something that looks a little apathy and unfriendliness to anyone else. But Stiles knows him, he _knows_ that’s just Derek’s default I’m-too-embarrassed-for-words-ohgod-what-do-I-do face.

“Sorry we took so long with the room, we didn’t mean to keep you from it.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind, really it was, um, it was nice to watch you. You might get that solo.”

Stiles beams at him. “You think?”

Derek grins back, this tiny little thing that melts hearts. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Thanks,” he says and wonders if it really would be that bad to just lean down and kiss him over that four year olds head. The four year old that is patiently waiting for Derek to let go of her tutu.

Stiles suppresses a smile.

“I better leave you to it. Young minds to mold and all that, right?”

Derek frowns a little.

“Bye Derek, see you around.”

“Bye.”

«»

Stiles is hanging back a little, distracted by Derek correcting a little boy’s pose gently, and pretending he’s not creeping on the other man through the glass windows that cover one side of the classroom.

“Stiles it’s cold and I forgot my sweater, do you still have an extra one?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says because Derek just bent down to tie someone’s ballet shoes and he’s distracted, _okay_.

Allison kisses him swiftly on the cheek. “Thanks! I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

“Sure,” he says and watches Derek’s smile light up his whole face as he speaks to the class at large. He always smiles just before he sends everyone home, telling them how proud he is and how awesome everyone did.

The class starts filing out, little kids with puffy jackets and backpacks and it hits Stiles that _no_ he doesn’t have an extra sweater because he spilled Monster all over himself the other day and had to use the extra sweater to go home.

He just had one sweater. And now he doesn’t- Now all he has is a really thin shirt and a spandex clad ass.

Fantastic.

Stiles groans loudly and kicks a little at his bag because it’s the closest thing to his feet. The second closest would be a tiny child and that just won’t do.

He sighs and decides to resign himself to his fate. He’ll die of hypothermia.

“Are you heading out?” Derek asks, coming up to Stiles already bundled up in a tight tight terribly tacky Christmas sweater and a warm looking jacket.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, pouting at the chilly wind that he can see sweeping leaves across the street outside.

“Like that?” Derek says judgmentally and Stiles just turns to him with resigned eyes.

“Yeah,” he mutters again, shouldering his bag.

Derek frowns, before stripping his jacket and holding it out for him. **“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”**

Stiles doesn’t even consider saying no, he doesn’t think he’d ever be polite enough to. He just makes grabby hands at it which makes Derek huff a little breath of laughter that does as much to warm him as the jacket carefully being slipped into his arms.

“Thank you, you’re my hero,” Stiles mumbles, tightening the fabric around himself and trying not to completely melt at the strong scent of _Derek_ that surrounds him. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Derek says and blushes because he’s trying to _kill_ Stiles. “Or we could stop for coffee and I could, um, walk you home?”

Stiles tops and blinks at him. “Like, a date?”

Derek does something complicated with his eyebrows before saying a little shakily, “Yeah?”

Stiles beams. “I’d love to.”

Derek should not look as he surprised as he does. It’s not like Stiles hasn’t been pining after him since the day he watched him let a young girl place a tiara on his head and thank her profusely. And then _spending_ the rest of the class with the tiara on.

“Oh. Okay, so- shall we go?”

Stiles smiles and reaches out to tuck his cold, cold fingers in the crook of Derek’s elbow.

“We shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> derek hale moves like he's three seconds away from breaking into a ballet routine and that is why this happened


	4. 5. "I'll walk you home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> highschool AU + POV Stiles + hurt/comfort + some mentions of Claudia's death

Stiles catagorizes the people in the yard in his head: there are exactly two types; which is good because two is a balanced number. He can look at a person and slot them into either A or B without thinking twice about it. It's like pulling the petals off a daisy to tell if someone loves you or not - there's always a definite answer: yes or no. There is no inbetween. No anomaly. It's comfortingly predictable.   
  
He sits on the sun warmed slab of stone in the corner of the yard and stares at the people. The first catagory are the ones who are avoiding him like the plague, who want to stare openly but are too afraid to do so, as if death is something contagious. As if just by looking at the kid whose mother died, you were putting you and your family at risk too. Stiles calls them the 'Turn Aways' because that's exactly what they do: they look at him with something akin fear in their eyes until he looks back. Then they avert their gaze because of course, eye contact can't be made. It's too dangerous.

But Stiles can deal with this catagory, no problem. It's the second one that's more difficult. They're the ones who haven't found out yet. They hover around the periphery of his day usually and Stiles usually doesn't even notice them but today, each innocent smile and casual wave of the hand is like a sword in his gut, deep and shifting with each breath. It's not their fault. They don't know about his mom and they're behaving in the manner they usually would but Stiles fingers still curl around the edge of the stone slab and he still feels short of breath and angry. Angry because they don't know and they dont care and when they do find out they'll probably be the ones who'll come and sob and tell him how sorry they are. He doesn't want their pity.

He closes his eyes briefly, bends his head so that all he can see are his red shoes and tries to breathe. It's funny how he has to put in an effort to do something that should come naturally, that needs to come naturally. He exhales slowly and sits up again.

There are no sandwiches in his bag because there's no one to put them there anymore. He's hungry but it's just a dull feeling - something he can easily ignore if he wants to. He stares at the popular bunch of girls with their pink nails and perfect blonde hair and feels nothing. He takes in their high pitched laughter and their whispers and catalogues it someplace he doesn't know how to access at the moment.

He thinks maybe he should get up and go inside and sit in the classroom. It'll be quieter there. The only thing stopping him though, is that he knows that when he moves to get up, he'll instantly become the center of hundred and twenty seven people's attention, a single ripple in a big pond. It's safer to keep sitting there, motionless, inviting as little attention as possible and wait for the bell to ring so that he can join the crowd of people going to their classes and blend in.

Blending in. He's going to become a pro at it, he thinks as he shifts imperceptibly. The sun feels warm on his head because of his new buzz cut. He catagorizes six more people: they fall three each into both catagorizes. He's tired because he hasn't slept in three days but it's not really his fault because every time he lies down on his bed, he's wide awake, as if he'd had a million cups of coffee all at once. His dad hasn't noticed yet. Stiles doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Hey," a voice calls out from behind him. It's a somewhat familiar, kind of nice voice. It sounds friendly and only very mildly curious. Stiles turns, partly because he can't figure out which of the two catagories the owner of the voice belongs to.

"I'm in your Spanish class." It's a boy. Stiles has seen him before. He thinks he sits two desks down the row to his left. He's never talked to him before though.

"I'm Derek," the boy introduces himself. He's looking over the yard wall so Stiles can only see his shoulders, arms and head. Stiles nods but doesn't say anything.

Derek looks at him for a second before placing his palm flat on the yard wall and hoisting himself up and over it. He lands on his feet next to the bench Stiles is sitting on with a little 'oof' but straightens up almost immediately. Without another word he drops down next to Stiles on the bench, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his backpack and staring out at the people in the yard like Stiles is.

They sit in silence for a long time. Stiles is a little irritated because he can't slot Derek into Type A or B but the bell rings before he can solve the puzzle. Derek gets up with him and wordlessly they walk to Spanish class.

*

The next day he's back. He hoists himself over the wall again, showing a little skin where his shirt rides up as he's jumping. Stiles nods as he sits and they stare out at the yard in a strangely comfortable silence.

*

On the fourth day he takes off his backpack and sets it by his feet. Stiles stares straight ahead. The people in the yard have all become Type As and he's trying to catch them looking curiously at him.

"I'll trade you a sandwich for your Spanish notes," Derek suddenly says, holding out a plastic wrapped sandwich. Stiles stares at the thin slice of pink meat and the lettuce peeking out from between the bread. He can't remember the last time he had taken notes in Spanish.

"Go on, I'm kinda desperate here," Derek says. Slowly Stiles moves his hand and takes the offered food. He unwraps it and holds it in his hand for a few seconds before looking up at Derek.

"I don't have Spanish notes," his voice is raspy and feels foreign in his throat. Derek just shrugs. Stiles doesn't know what that means exactly so he looks back at the sandwich. The crusts have been cut off and the plastic wrap has been carefully folded into neat little triangles in the corners. He imagines Derek's mom making it for him, slicing off the edges because that's what her son likes, wrapping it efficiently so that it doesnt get squished in his bag. He swallows and brings it up to his mouth to take a bite.

*

On the fifth day Derek has two sandwiches.

On the eight day he has a little pudding cup and two spoons. It's chocolate puding which is Stiles' favourite.

On the tenth day he finds Stiles' locker and is leaning against it when Stiles arrives, surprised to see Derek outside of the yard and Spanish class.

"Do you have Math now?" Derek asks, tucking his thumbs into the straps of his backpack again. He does that a lot. Stiles nods.

"Cool. I have English and it's right next to the Math class so I'll come with you," he says. Stiles hands still for a moment as he's taking out his math text book. He nods again, puts the book in his bag and shuts his locker. They walk to class together.

*

For some strange reason, Derek sticks by his side for two weeks. Stiles wants to ask why, is curious and confused because pretty much everyone else has left him alone. (Except for Kira; she came and gave him a hug and then left without a word). He’s almost on the verge of asking Derek one day (they still don’t talk a lot and this would be the first time Stiles would initiate conversation) when he overhears the principal’s secretary talk about a shooting at the station.

It feels like his stomach drops.

His breathing speeds up and his vision grows blurry and without thinking, he reaches out and grasps Derek’s arm, trying to steady himself. Everything is slolwy fading into white noise and his hands feel shaky and he is so cold, so fucking cold but he manages to walk over to the secretary and ask her for details.

At his side, Derek has a palm flat over Stiles’ hand on his arm and is looking at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look like he wants to escape though.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Stiles. It’s a shooting in the station in the next town, not in Beacon Hills,” she bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, tapping her pencil against the desk with her other hand.

Stiles stills and feels like something huge has been lifted off his shoulders. He closes his eyes briefly and swallows and tries to immediately tamp down the ‘what if’s because he knows that they won’t help.

“Are you okay?” the secretary asks. Stiles can’t speak or nod so she reaches out to pat his shoulder. It doesn’t give him any comfort. “Your dad said to tell you he’s driving over to investigate and help and that he’ll be back late,” she  tells him gently. He finally finds it in him to acknowledge her words and nods, taking a step back. Derek’s hand is still on his and it feels strangely comforting.

“Hey,” Derek says very quietly, almost in his ear as he pulls him into the little janitor’s closet a little way down the hall. Stiles lets him.

“Was that a panic attack?” The closet is small and they’re almost chest to chest, Derek’s hands now anxiously fluttering over his forearms. Stiles leans into the touch and closes his eyes, nodding. It’s dark in the closet and he can’t remember the last time he hugged his dad. Or his mom. He wishes he could lean in and hug Derek.

“Are you feeling better now? Is there anything I can do?” Derek asks, voice concerned and hesitant. Stiles shakes his head and lets his head fall a little so that it almost touches Derek’s shoulder. He craves the touch so bad it’s an itch under his skin but he also doesn’t want to be the one to ask.

Derek, though, magically, somehow, understands. His hands shift from Stiles’ forearms to his back, tucking themselves around his waist and drawing him in so that Stiles’ head is buried in the crook of his shoulder. Stiles almost wants to cry. His breath hitches as he brings his hands up around Derek’s shoulders and turns his face into the slant of Derek’s neck and tries not to cry as Derek’s hands rub cirlces at the small of his back.

“I’ll walk you home,” Derek whispers as the bell rings. Stiles nods into his shirt and feels his heart return to it’s normal pace.


	5. 14 "Can I have this dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU + Prom Night + Mutual Pining + POV Alternating + Side Character: Heather
> 
> This chapter is formatted a lil' different. Stiles' POV is in normal text and Derek's is (like this).

It’s prom night and Stiles is a coward.

(It’s prom night and Derek just wants the floor to swallow him. Or maybe to be hit by a monster truck. That would hurt less than this.)

He’s got a hand on Heather’s waist and the other on her hand as he spins her around the school gym, smiling tightly. She looks beautiful there’s no denying it.

(He’s sitting in a corner, taking long sips of spiked punch like he’s trying to drown himself and watching the boy he’s stupidly smitten with spin a pretty girl around the school gym.)

She looks beautiful, but she’s not the one he wants to be dancing with. Not by a long mile. He loves Heather like a sister. He would go to war for her but-

(Derek’s not really sure why he subjected himself to this kind of torture. It’s more than obvious that Stiles and Heather are on their way to be a perfect fairytale. High school sweethearts with the picket fence and the two point five kids.)

But he’s not _in love_ with her. He’s never been.

He thought he was once upon a time, but that was just full hearted affection. He didn’t realize what being in love meant until he went and fell in love for the one guy he couldn’t get.

(Figures this would be his prom night.

He takes another hard sip of his drink and winces, trying his best not to let his eyes stray to the cutesy happy couple like a total creeper.

It’s futile. He hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Stiles since the first time he came crashing down the hall yelling at Derek to stop with his goddamned basketball before he made him swallow it.

Romantic, he knows. Derek always went for the nice people.)

He’s making an effort to give Heather the best possible prom night he can because he owes her that much. Even if his eyes keep straying towards Derek in the corner sipping punch and looking a special kind of devastating.

Stiles wonders why he’s not dancing like his friends. If maybe he’s _too cool_ to dance or no one asked him.

He looks up and sees Derek already looking at him and his breath gets caught in his throat.

(Stiles looks at him and it’s the first time their eyes lock tonight. Derek feels like throwing up a little. He also feels like going over and kissing him.

Sadly he can’t do either.)

“Stiles,” Heather calls his attention back and he winces, guiltily turning back to her and smiling.

(Heather calls him and Stiles doesn’t even hesitate in looking back at her, smiling as beautifully as he always does.)

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

Heather smiles kindly, putting her hands on his chest to stop him moving around as the song comes to a halt.

“You should go over,” she tells him.

(Derek watches Heather put her hands on Stiles’ chest like it’s her right. Like that’s her place and that’s where she belongs. No place for Derek there.)

“ _Heather_.”

“I’m serious Stiles.”

“I came here with you. I can’t just-“

She kisses him on the lips and there’s- nothing there.

(Heather smiles and kisses him and Derek has to look away. _Has to_.

It’s enough torture for one night. Erica might call him a masochist and that might be true on some degree considering Derek decided to come here and watch _this_ , but he’s not that much of a masochist.

He puts his solo cup down.)

“One last kiss,” she pasts his chest. “Now go get your man. And I expect _all_ the details. Me and Paige have money riding on who’s going to bottom.”

(He power walks towards the door. He doesn’t need to look anymore. He doesn’t need to see that. What was he thinking? That Stiles would miraculously _notice_ him.

Yeah, good luck with that Derek.

Why did he let Paige talk him into coming?)

“Paige?”

Heather shrugs a little. “She’s cute.”

“She’s like my cousin.”

“She’s your cousin a billion times removed. Now go before he leaves.” She turns him around and pushes him a little towards Derek.

Derek who’s walking out of the gym like he’s just walked in on his parents having sex and _that’s not okay_.

Stiles jogs towards him.

(“Derek,” someone shouts and he stops dead in his tracks because that’s Stiles. What could Stiles possibly-)

“Derek wait up,” he yells, and skids to a halt next to him, almost toppling over.

“Stiles.” Derek says his name neutrally, no inflection whatsoever in his voice and eyes straying towards the door.

(Stiles rubs the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous ort shy about something. It’s endearing. It makes Derek want to hold his hand which is stupid.

He should just leave it’s not like there’s anything here for him among the happy couples and the soft swelling music.)

 **“Can I have this dance?”** he blurts out like a total moron.

Way to go Stiles just word vomit all over his shoes that’s smooth.

(Wait what. Derek can’t possibly have heard right. What about-)

“What about Heather?” Derek asks and his face turns so vulnerable and scared Stiles could just punch himself in the face because _ohmygod_ everyone was right forever.

“Broke up with her.”

(This can’t be happening. He’s hallucinating. That punch must’ve been stronger than he predicted.)

“I saw you kiss just two seconds ago.”

Stiles shrugs a little. Why can’t Derek ever make anything easy? Also why must he be so infuriatingly handsome in his tailored suit while Stiles looks like he found his on the street and decided that would do for tonight.

“We’re not in love. I think it was convenient at best, you know. We _like_ each other just not-“ he makes a face, hoping that encompasses everything. “Besides it would never work since I’m kinda head over heels over this one guy.”

( _Ohmygod_.)

“Who?”

(Stiles likes him? No- he doesn’t- he must mean-)

“You, you moron.” How can Derek _not_ know. He’s been painfully obvious.

( _Jesus hotcakes._ )

“So-“

(Derek’s going to die. Stiles _likes_ him. He likes _likes_ him. He broke up with Heather for him, he-)

**“Can I have this dance?”**

(Derek blushes to the tips of his years and looks down at the hand Stiles is offering and takes it gently. Stiles threads their fingers together a little and Derek is going to _explode_. It’ll be thoroughly disgusting.)

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i solemnly swear i will always be a slut for bby!derek hale


	6. 85. "It doesn't bother me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective AU + office flirting + getting together + POV Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is because I watched a lot of Brooklyn 99 yesterday and detective AU is one of my favourite AUs in the world :D

Derek runs a hand through his hair and looks up from his file to see Stiles lounging in his chair, feet up on his desk. He’s simultaneously solving a Rubik’s cube (not with a lot of success, Derek notes with a smirk) and flirting with Heather, the receptionist.

“And then I pulled out my gun just as Boyd knocked over a shelf of tins behind us and boy, did the perp piss his pants or what,” Stiles laughs, twisting the cube in his hands, his long fingers moving constantly as they tried to align the colours.

“Did you get the paperwork done yet?” Derek sighs in exasperation, flinging the said file onto Stiles’ desk and frowning at him. Stiles doesn’t even flinch as the file slides off the desk and lands in his lap. He just catches it between his elbows and looks up to direct his bright grin at Derek.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” he says good naturedly, tucking the unsolved Rubik’s cube into a planter whose plant had long since died and was now being used to store the odd knick knacks that didn’t fit into his already overflowing drawers. “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he added, grinning cheekily at Derek’s murderous face.

“Just do it before the captain asks for today’s records,” Derek grits out before turning his seat so that he’s not facing Stiles anymore.

Ten minutes later, Derek’s immersed in a report on the attempted kidnapping from last night when someone deposits a file next to his report on his desk.

“There. Done!” Stiles sounds like a seven year old who just managed to ride his bike for an entire minute without falling over. Derek rolls his eyes and without looking up, picks up the paperwork and puts it on the pile of cases they’ve solved and processed.

“See, I told you I’d do it,” Stiles leans against the side of his desk.

“Twenty-five minutes late, but yeah,” Derek mutters under his breath. Stiles laughs.

“Oh come on, don’t be such a sourwolf,” he slaps Derek’s shoulder playfully.

“The term, I believe, is sourpuss, not sour _wolf,_ ” Derek corrects him almost automatically.

“With all your scruff and growling, you’re more wolf than cat, Der,” Stiles pushes himself off the desk and sinks into the empty chair next to it. Derek stares at him.

“Aren’t you off duty now?” he asks, looking pointedly at the clock.

“Yeah but I don’t feel like going home,” Stiles shrugs.

“So you’re just gonna stay here and bug me until you feel like going home?” Derek snarks, flipping over a page in his report and wishing that his heart wouldn’t beat so _fast, dammnit._

“Me? Bug you?” Stiles sounds wounded and Derek can’t help but smile a little. His partner can be such a child sometimes.

“Derek,” Stiles says after a few long minutes of silence in which Derek tries very hard to focus on his report instead of on Stiles’ constant fidgeting and quiet sighs.

“Yeah?” He looks up. Stiles is biting his lip and his expression is serious. Derek swallows. He’s never seen Stiles look serious outside of a really difficult case. It’s unnerving.

“Does it bother you?” Stiles asks, waving his hands vaguely at the space between them.

“Does what bother me?”

“You know, the flirting and everything. Because if it does, I’m sorry,” Stiles says in a low voice, leaning in a little. Derek feels his cheeks grow pink under all the scruff Stiles was always going on about. “I mean, sometimes you get pissed off but sometimes you tolerate me and I don’t know if I should stop or if it makes you uncomfortable or what,” Stiles goes on, one of his hands on Derek’s chair’s armrest.

Derek doesn’t quite know what to say. He flips another page of his report and fiddles with his pen. Stiles leans back after a minute and sighs quietly to himself.

“It doesn’t,” Derek mumbles, looking up.

“Doesn’t what?” Stiles asks, his voice sounding a little breathless.

“ **It doesn’t bother me,** ” Derek clarifies.

“Oh.”

Derek smirks. It’s not often Stiles is left speechless.

“So, uh,” Stiles starts, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up all over the place.

“So,” Derek repeats, giving up all pretence of reading his report.

“You, uh, wanna get a coffee or something?” Stiles asks, looking hopeful. Derek grins.

“Yeah sure.”


	7. 18. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy Setting + Warrior!Derek + Magic!Stiles + Established Relationship + Hurt!Derek

“Stiles!” Scott calls from the front of his cabin, sounding faintly out of breath.

“What? Did you forget Kira’s birthday again? I told you it was the last time I teleported you to ge-“

“Derek’s hurt,” Scott cuts him off.

The bowl Stiles had been using to grind berries on topples to the ground in Stiles’ haste to get to the front door.

It’s not an unusual sight the one Stiles finds himself faced with when he reaches his entryway. Derek slumped over Scott’s shoulder, armor slashed open and blood seeping through his undershirt.

“For Goddesses’ sake,” he curses, rushing to Derek’s side and gingerly throwing his arm over his shoulders so he can help Scott carry him to the table he uses for this. “He needs a _healer_ , Scott.”

“He refused to come anywhere but here,” Scott argues as they dump Derek on the table and wince when he groans in pain.

“ _Idiot_ ,” Stiles shakes his head, throwing the special cabinet that was enchanted to respond only to his hands open, fingers tripping through the vials until he finds the right one.

When he turns Scott has already rid Derek of his armor and pushed his shirt upwards and it looks _nasty_. Nasty and slowly oozing black and _oh great._ Wolfsbane infection was exactly what he needed to deal with right now.

“You’re a fucking moron,” Stiles hisses, smoothing a hand over his forehead gently and pushing the hair that had stuck to Derek’s sweaty forehead back.

Derek’s eyes flutter. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, right here. I got you,” he murmurs, propping Derek’s head up and snapping the cap out of the vial with the other. **“Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”**

Derek parts his lips and for once makes Stiles’ life easier by drinking what he’s given with no   fuss.

“What was that?” Scott asks, hovering.

“Anesthetic and cleanser. This is going to get gutty you might want to step out.”

Scott makes a face and nods once severely. “I should get back before Boyd and Erica murder everyone.”

Stiles flaps his hand at him and climbs on the table, straddling Derek.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” he mutters, trying to catch Derek’s glassy eyes. He doesn’t think Derek’s hearing or understanding much of what he’s saying by now. “Derek?”

Derek faintly grunts at him, somehow managing to grab Stiles’ wrist with one bloodied hand and running a thumb soothingly over his wrist bone.

Stiles takes a deep breath and steals himself, trying to detach the person from the wound just before he shoves his fingers inside and Derek starts screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor-“ he says like a mantra, sending a pulse of magic that’ll clean the wound from inside by burning every vestige of wolfsbane or any other kind of magic that might’ve been imbedded in the arrow.

The tales never tell you how gruesome tending to wounds is even when you do it magically.

Stiles _hates_ doing this. So much. But he’s the only person Derek trusts to do it so he bears it.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps under him.

“Just a little bit more, I’m almost done I promise,” he soothes, withdrawing his fingers and pinching the flesh together and holding until the flesh starts knitting by itself.

The next breath Derek takes in isn’t a scream and the one following doesn’t even reach a wheeze.

Stiles more or less collapses on him, body bowing and forehead touching Derek’s chest.

“Did you try?” he asks after Derek has started drawing patterns along his arm to distract himself from the feeling of his body changing gears, readjusting. “I told you to _at least_ try, Derek did you-“

“Yes. I was being safe. I was trying to. I was trying to, I promise.”

Stiles rises up and looks him in the eyes and tries to gauge if he’s telling the truth.

“Try harder. It’s the third time this month.”

“I’m trying,” Derek reassures like he did the last two times he was laying on Stiles’ table after he promised he’d try not to die while on patrol.

Stiles pushes upwards and kisses him on the lips and hopes that’s enough of a reminder of why he should try.

“I’m trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically my boyfriend is really into hawke/fenris and i'm an easily influenced hoe


	8. 79. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 79\. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” + Derek in New York + phonecall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold type = Derek  
> Normal type = Stiles

**Hi.**

Hi.

**So, uh how’s everything going?**

It’s going great. Everything’s great, you know. Nemeton asleep, no monsters, all that jazz.

**That’s good.**

Uh huh. Yeah.

**So, um –**

Yes?

**Um, I got a job here.**

Oh.

**Yeah, it’s um, it’s at a local Mexican restaurant. As a chef, but um, I’ve been working on my photography and it’s coming along rather well, so uh, maybe I’ll pitch a portfolio to Laura’s art gallery soon, see what they think.**

I’m sure they’ll love it.

**Thanks, Stiles.**

So, uh, what sort of photographs?

**Oh, um, anything that catches my fancy really. I haven’t come up with a coherent theme yet. Maybe when they’re all done and developed, I can see what fits.**

Oh, cool.

**So, uh, how’s Scott?**

Great. It’s easier to be an Alpha in a town where there’s no monsters anymore and your biggest problem is whether your girlfriend’s gonna get mad you skipped a date because you wanted to play WoW with your best friend.

**Allison understands, I’m sure.**

Yeaahh, I guess she does.

**Yeah.**

So, um, any plans for Christmas?

**Oh, uh, not really.**

Oh.

**Yeah, um, I just don’t know that many people here.**

Um, well, you could always fly back, you know.

**I don’t know if I can get the time off work.**

Oh.

**But I can try.**

That’d be cool.

**Stiles –**

Yeah?

**I don’t know, I just, I like New York a lot. It’s busy, it keeps me from thinking too much – it has no ghosts. I just, I can’t –**

It’s okay, Derek, it’s okay.

**No, it’s not. I know what could have happened.**

Really, it’s fine, Derek. I understand.

**Please, will you just let me say this?**

Oh, yes. Of course. I’m sorry. Um, go on.

**I think, uh, I think, I really do, that if I had stayed, we could, we could have been, you know – something.**

Oh.

**I, um, I really appreciated you being there for me when it all happened. But, Stiles, Beacon Hills – I just can’t come back. It hurts too much. I felt like I was empty and now that I’m here, I feel like I’m healing again. And I need to be alone for a while. Figure stuff out.**

Look at you being all poetic and shit.

**I’m sorry.**

No, no. Please don’t apologize. Nothing is your fault.

**Yeah.**

And Derek, it’s okay. I understand. And I’ll wait. It’s okay.

**No, please. Don’t wait. I don’t want you to give up dating and stuff because I can’t be in a relationship right now.**

Derek.

**Go out. Have fun.**

Derek.

**Don’t limit yourself.**

Derek, for god’s sake!

**Yeah?**

There’s no one else, you idiot. I’ve been in love with you since like, forever. I can wait. It’s okay. You matter.

**Oh.**

Yeah. What did you think?

**Um, I don’t know. I just never expected this.**

Is it not good?

**No, no, it’s great. I just –**

Derek, I don’t expect anything. When I said I’ll wait, it doesn’t mean that I’m putting a limit on the time you need to sort things out. Please, take your time. Take all the time you need.

**Thanks, Stiles.**

Look. I still have about a year of school left.

**Uh huh.**

And um, I’ve been looking into NYU.

**Oh.**

Yeah. They have, uh, they have a good ciminal law program. But only if you’re okay with it.

**That would be – that would be great.**

The criminal law part or the coming to New York part?

**Both.**

I miss you.

**I miss you too.**

I’ll still be here when you’re ready.

**Thank you, Stiles.**


	9. 92. "I want you to be happy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves Are Known + Werewolf Rights Activists!sterek + Established + Angst w/ a Happy Ending

Stiles is pissed.

Stiles is _beyond_ pissed, he’s edging right into blind rage and the only thing keeping him from vaulting right over that line is the fact that he’s also scared.

God, he doesn’t think he has ever been this scared in his entire life.

“Derek,” he pounds a closed fist on the door but there’s no response. “Derek I know you’re in there. Erica told me you were in there, so open the fucking door.”

Like it hadn’t been hard enough to get here. Like Stiles didn’t have to scale the fire escape the building over and signal Isaac to stretch the plank of wood they keep on the rooftop so he could cross over to this building. Like he didn’t have to evade a hoard of bigots hurling speciciest slurs.

“Don’t make me call your mom,” he threatens.

Something thunks against the door like Derek just hit his head against it, like he’s been hovering on the other side all this time.

Stiles wouldn’t be surprised, he does know what a huge emo child that man can be.

“Derek,” he pleads, tries another strategy. “Please, I just- I just want to talk.”

There’s the distinct sound of the heavy lock turning and then the door is being swung back and there is Derek is all his broody manpain glory.

Stiles takes a shuddering breath, not sure what to start with now that the door is open and he can finally see Derek after three days.

He’s pathetic really. Three days of Derek ignoring him and here Stiles is ready to kick down his door.

“Thank you,” he decides to start with. “Can I come in?”

Derek’s not looking at him. He hasn’t looked at him since he opened the door.

He shrugs a shoulder and just steps a little aside, letting Stiles in.

“What do you want Stiles?”

And okay apparently the Derek Effect, the one where Stiles is so in awe of him that his brain just stops, has passed because Stiles doesn’t feel like being polite anymore, he feels like slugging him in the _face_ even though he knows he’ll only hurt himself.

_Fucking werewolves._

“What do I want? What _do I want!_ Well gee Derek maybe I want to know why my fucking boyfriend has been ignoring me for the last three days. Maybe what I _want_ is to know what went through his head for him to think that not even calling me after he go out of the _goddamned hospital_ was a good idea. _Maybe_ I want to know what is _wrong with you_.”

Derek doesn’t look at him. He just stands there staring at his bare feet and clenching his jaw.

There’s something inherently terrible about yelling at someone while they’re in a cozy sweater and barefoot.

“I thought it was obvious,” Derek says in a monotone and his toes curl against the wooden floor.

Stiles wants to reach out and forcefully jerk his chin up so Derek will look at him. It’s making him uneasy.

“Obvious,” he says slowly.

“That we’re done.”

Stiles has been slapped. Several times even. He has even been sucker punched and he’s been beaten and once he even got stabbed.

This is worse.

This is so much worse, almost like getting stab but then the knife twisting until it carves out a hole in you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, clinging to that one thing that is off. If Derek doesn’t look at him it’s not real.

Derek pretends like he hasn’t heard him, turning the other way.

“If we’re done you’re going to have to look at me and tell me.”

Derek hunches his shoulder slightly.

“I don’t have time for-“

And Stiles is done.

He takes two steps and spins Derek around forcefully.

“ _Fucking look at me,_ ” he spits, grapping Derek by the collar of his sweater.

Derek flinches and Stiles hates himself.

“Derek,” he tries a little slower and pretends his voice doesn’t break. “Derek whatever you’re doing stop, just- just stop please.”

They’d been doing so good. _Sickeningly_ good. The kind of good where Derek draped an arm over his shoulders while they slouched on his parents’ couch and only laughed and hid his smile against Stiles’ cheek when his aunts and uncles teased them about their future marriage.

“I can’t. Stiles-“

“What do you want?” he asks a little desperately because this is it. Derek’s _it_ for him and he’s know it since the day Derek roared at a group of kids in Halloween and smirked in delight when they squealed and ran away. “Whatever you want- just- What did I do wrong?”

Derek makes a sound like he’s been punched.

“You didn’t do anything. It’s not you it’s just-“

“What is it?”

Derek raises his eyes up to Stiles’ and he looks almost as injured as Stiles feels.

“What do you want Derek?”

**“I want you to be happy** ,” he says, pleads almost. “And that’s not with me. Stiles I got _shot_ last week just because of what I am. One inch to the left and it could’ve been you. Please just- you _can’t_ get hurt, I couldn’t-“

“Derek,” he cuts him off, his fingers letting go of their loose grip on the collar of Derek’s sweater and smoothing over his shoulders. “You’re being stupid again.”

Derek jerks a little and Stiles grips his shoulders to keep him there.

“Scott is my best friend and he’s as likely to get shot as you are but I’m not going to leave him because of it and I’m not leaving you. What you do for werewolf rights is important, what _I do_ for werewolf rights matters to me. I wouldn’t stop doing it if we broke up.

“No matter how you look at it I’ll be in the crosshairs whether I’m with or without you. You said it yourself, that you want me to be happy, getting my heart broken by the man I love won’t make me happy.”

“I just want you safe.”

“I’m safer with you. Do you know how many times you’ve pulled me back from punching someone and getting arrested?”

Derek fists the bottom of Stiles’ shirt and makes a little noise, pulling him a little closer and he willingly goes because sometimes they need this. Stiles calling Derek to reason and keeping him from self-destroying isn’t something new. They’ve done it for each other so many times over it became a them thing.

“I was scared stupid.”

“Yeah you were.”

Derek opens his mouth against Stiles’ shoulder, breathing him in as much as he can.

“I missed you,” Derek mumbles because he’s as much of a sucker as Stiles is.

“Missed you too. And I’m going to be pissed in just a minute you made this decision without me.”

“I know.” Derek squeezes him a little tighter.

“But first cuddles.”

Derek laughs a little against his shoulder and it’s okay. They’re going to be okay.

It’s been almost three years of this and they always are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright cupcakes, due to some personal stuff me and my partner over here have decided to put this on hiatus. we will be back eventually, just wait for us loveballs, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Rita (aka crossroadswrite): *waves hand* alright cupcakes y'all know I hardly can post a fic without a dumb remark at the end so expect those and please keep all limbs inside of the vehicle please contain your flailing as to not rock the cart we are going on a journey to trashland.
> 
> Nuzhat (aka sterekfluffer): We hope you enjoy our hundred days (200 days, actually, since we're posting on alternate days) of Sterek lovin' =D


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